Cavatina edged closer to the font and took a look. The scrying was focused on Qilue, who walked through a forest with half a dozen lesser priestesses in tow. Qilue stood head and shoulders above the rest, a majestic figure with her silver robes and ankle-length white hair. The sight of her filled Cavatina with reverential awe. Qilue had founded the Promenade, had lifted the worship of Eilistraee from an obscure sect to a force to be reckoned with. She'd made the faith what it was today. Every drow who had been raised from the Underdark over the past six centuries owed their redemption to her. Even though Cavatina had slain the demigod Selvetarm, she didn't rank nearly as high in the faith as Qilue.
Qilue was speaking to the lesser priestesses, but her words were too soft for Cavatina to make out. She held the Crescent Blade in her hand, and emphasized a remark by using it to point at something out of range of the scrying font.
There was a time, not so long ago, when the sight of the Crescent Blade in the high priestess's hands would have filled Cavatina with jealousy. Now it was just another weapon-albeit a powerful one, ensorcelled with magic that had enabled Cavatina to kill a demigod.
"What you have to say must be disconcerting, indeed, if you don't want… her to hear it."
Rylla passed a hand over the font, ending the scrying. She sat on one of the benches. "I've been speaking with one of the Seven Sisters," she began. "Laeral Silverhand. She paid me a visit recently, expressing concerns about… her sister."
Cavatina nodded. "Go on."
"Lady Silverhand pointed out something I'd noticed myself. A cut on the high priestess's wrist."
"Which wrist?"
"The right one." Rylla touched her own wrist. "Just here."
Cavatina shivered slightly, as if a chill breeze had just blown through the room. "That happened a year and a half ago. Just before our attack on the Acropolis of…" She faltered as the name that had been on the tip of her tongue an instant ago suddenly escaped her. "Of the death goddess," she said at last. "I was there when the high priestess cut herself. She was in the middle of an attunement, dancing with the Crescent Blade. She faltered in her dance."
"Not something she'd ordinarily do."
"No."
Rylla shifted the lute so that Cavatina had room to sit down. The fingers with the picks rested briefly on the neck of the instrument, as if yearning to pluck its strings. Then Rylla removed her finger-picks and set them aside. "Lady Silverhand mentioned something else. Something she noticed about the Crescent Blade. More specifically, about her sister's reluctance to let anyone else touch it. Each time Lady Silverhand asks to examine the sword, the high priestess refuses. She claims her bond with it will be broken if anyone else handles it."
"That explanation rings hollow," Cavatina said. "The only time you can't let go of an attuned weapon-be it magical or mundane-is during the actual attunement itself. The ensorcelments on the Crescent Blade are extremely powerful, but the same rules would apply."
"I suspected as much."
"You're overlooking one possible motivation," Cavatina continued. "Pride. The high priestess has decreed that she will be the one to kill Lolth, when that time comes. If she hands over the Crescent Blade to anyone else, especially long enough for a magical study to be made of it, she might miss her chance at glory."
There. It was said. Not so long ago, Cavatina might have spoken the words with bitterness, but the boil of anger and jealousy that had festered inside her for years had been lanced by her redemption. Now she spoke calmly and with detachment. Even so, she said a silent prayer of contrition, asking Eilistraee to forgive her for casting doubt on the high priestess's character.
Rylla met Cavatina's eyes. "We both know that's not the reason."
Cavatina nodded. "What, then?"
"You carried the Crescent Blade. Fought with it. Did it ever… communicate with you?"
"You're asking me if it's an intelligent weapon. The answer is yes. The Crescent Blade spoke to me."
"Did it ever say anything… odd?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did it ever urge you to do something rash? To take on opponents you couldn't or shouldn't fight?"
Cavatina laughed. "I wanted to kill Selvetarm, believe me." Then she shook her head. "On the other hand, the weapon did seem… proud. Boastful. It talked as if it had killed Selvetarm all on its own."
Rylla stared directly into Cavatina's eyes. "Did it compel you to kill Selvetarm?"
"No. It wasn't like that. Not at all."
"Did you feel any sort of compulsion while holding the Crescent Blade?"
"No. Well, yes, actually, but not until after I'd returned to the Promenade. When the high priestess commanded me to give the Crescent Blade to her, I didn't want to let go of it."
"But you gave it to her."
Cavatina bristled. It sounded like an accusation. "She ordered me to."
Rylla sighed. "I didn't call you here to try and find fault with you. I summoned you to the Promenade because I'm worried. I think the Crescent Blade may be the cause of our high priestess's recent… outbursts. Her orders have been rather abrupt lately, and she's been less than forthcoming about the rationale behind them."
"She is the high priestess," Cavatina countered. "Eilistraee's Chosen. As such, she's not bound to answer to anyone but the goddess for her decisions. She gives orders, and it is our duty to obey."
"Are they her orders?" Rylla asked.
Cavatina tensed. "Are you implying what I think you are?"
"The Crescent Blade never leaves her hand. Even when it's sheathed, her hand rests on its hilt."
"Are you telling me you think the Crescent Blade is controlling the high priestess?"
"I don't want to speculate. I want to know." Rylla rose to her feet and paced in a restless circle around the benches. "Describe for me the temple you recovered the Crescent Blade from-the one in the Demonweb Pits."
Cavatina did.
Rylla listened, interjecting a question here and there.
"Was the temple truly sacred ground?"
"My divinations revealed that it was."
"And the sword within it?"
Cavatina swallowed. Hard. Though she'd felt the Crescent Blade's holiness with a certainty as strong as song when she had first entered the temple, a seed of doubt had been planted the instant she read the inscription on the mended blade. Yet despite the broken inscription, the Crescent Blade hadn't failed her. It had severed Selvetarm's neck, exactly as it had been forged to do.
Of course, that was what Lolth had intended, all along. Halisstra had admitted as much. And it had been Halisstra who had led Cavatina to that temple. Halisstra the traitor. She'd pretended she was acting of her own volition-that she was seeking redemption-but she'd been the Spider Queen's foil, all along, little better than a web-snared fly.
"My divination revealed nothing amiss with the Crescent Blade," Cavatina answered at last.
Rylla waited. "But?" she prompted.
"But now I'm not so sure."
It was true. Until this moment, Cavatina had thought sacrificing Selvetarm was the extent of the Spider Queen's plot. But now she wondered if Lolth's schemes went even deeper than that. Soon after Cavatina had claimed the Crescent Blade, it had spoken to her.
You're not the one, it had said.
Had Lolth anticipated that Qilue would eventually claim the weapon for herself? Was the reforged Crescent Blade part of some trap that even now was springing shut? Was the weapon somehow goading Qilue toward a battle she would lose-a battle in which the Crescent Blade would fail her?